The Hit wr-2

by David Baldacci

  Robie walked off.

  Tucker stared after him for a few moments and then stalked to his vehicle.

  Through the gates of the White House watching all of this was Jessica Reel.

  She and Robie exchanged a glance and she turned and strode off.

  Chapter 80

  Robie waited on the bench at Roosevelt Island, right across from the Kennedy Center in the Potomac River. In the middle of a million people the small island was heavily wooded, isolated, and private. It was not open to the public today, which made it even more private. There was a good reason for this.

  It was a fine day, bright, sunny, and warmer than normal.

  Robie looked up at some birds soaring by and then his attention turned to the man coming down the path toward him. He was walking slowly. He saw Robie and gave a small wave before taking his time heading over.

  He sat, unbuttoned his jacket, and leaned back.

  “Nice day,” said Robie.

  “It will be nicer when we nail the bastard,” said Whitcomb.

  “I’m looking forward to that too.”

  “You spooked Tucker after our meeting.”

  “He was definitely on the defensive.”

  “As he should be. Tucker is a disgrace, but difficult as it is to admit, I don’t see how we do it, Robie. The proof just isn’t there. No matter how hard we want it to be.”

  “The shooters had been with the agency.”

  “His motive?”

  “With the world gone to hell the CIA would skyrocket right to the top in budget dollars and turf. The twin holy grails of the intelligence sector.”

  Whitcomb shook his head. “Circumstantial only. His lawyers would tear that to pieces. Not one of the shooters had anything useful?”

  “They were out of the loop. Hired guns only. Kent is dead. Gelder, Decker, Jacobs. All loose ends tied up.”

  “He was efficient, I’ll give him that.”

  “One mistake, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have one loose end that was forgotten.”

  “What?” asked Whitcomb eagerly.

  “A who, sir. A woman. Karin Meenan. She worked at the CIA as a physician. She was the one who put the tracker device on me. She knew Roy West. And she knew about the white paper.”

  “White paper?”

  “We called it the apocalypse paper. It diagrammed in meticulous detail an attack on the G8, country by country, assassination by assassination, executed by Islamic terrorists. Then it outlined what would be done after the killings to maximize the global chaos.”

  “But the attack in Canada centered on Arab leaders, not the G8.”

  “Right. They took West’s document and reversed it. An attack on Muslim leaders by—” Here Robie fell silent.

  “Not by factions in the Middle East,” said Whitcomb. “As we told the president. But by Tucker and those idiots at CIA who can’t seem to get this nation-building crap out of their system.”

  “I’m afraid new evidence cuts against that conclusion, sir.”

  “New evidence?”

  Robie waved his hand, motioning over the person who had just appeared on the entrance path. Whitcomb saw the woman coming forward, her steps hesitant.

  “I had her locked up in a little hideaway,” said Robie. “I was fearful for her safety.”

  Karin Meenan stopped in front of them. Robie said, “I’d introduce you, but you two already know each other.”

  Whitcomb stared up into the woman’s frightened features. Then he turned to Robie. “I’m not sure what’s going on here.”

  “A friend of mine did some research on you and had an epiphany. Did you enjoy playing football at the Naval Academy with Roger Staubach? He was a couple of years ahead of you and you played on the D-line and he was the QB. But it still must’ve been a thrill for you. Heisman Trophy winner, Navy’s last one. Hall of Fame. Super Bowl winner and MVP. Pretty awesome.”

  “It was, actually, but I think we need to get back to the matter at hand.”

  “He had a nickname too when he played. Quite the scrambler. The running quarterback. What was that nickname again?”

  Meenan said in a small voice, “Roger the Dodger.”

  “That’s it,” said Robie. “Roger the Dodger. Same handle that the person gave Roy West. West sent him the apocalypse paper. That’s where this all started. Now, I don’t think it was Staubach.” He pointed at Whitcomb. “I think it was you.”

  “I am very confused here, Robie. You and I have already discussed this. We put the blame squarely on Evan Tucker. You grilled him after the meeting with the president with my full blessing.”

  “Just done to throw you off your guard. To get you to come here and meet to discuss what you thought would be Tucker’s professional destruction. Tucker’s a prick, but he’s not a traitor. You’re the traitor.”

  Whitcomb slowly stood and looked down at him. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. And I’m more offended than disappointed.”

  “I’ve spent my whole working life killing bad guys, sir. One monster after another. One terrorist at a time. I’m good at it. I want to continue to do it.”

  “After these accusations today, I’m not sure you’ll be able to, quite frankly.”

  “Patience at an end? Didn’t want to wait for people like me to keep pulling triggers? Wanted to clear the game board in one move?”

  “If you have one shred of evidence, you better reveal it now.”

  “Well, we have Dr. Meenan here, who will testify that she worked with you directly to set this up. And that she put a tracker into my body on your orders.”

  Whitcomb stared menacingly at Meenan. “Then she would be lying and she will be charged with perjury and she will go to prison for a very long time.”

  “I just don’t see this going to a trial.”

  “Once the president hears of this I am sure that—”

  Robie cut him off. “The president has already been briefed. Everything I’ve just said, he’s already been told. It was at his suggestion that I meet with you.”

  “His suggestion?” Whitcomb said blankly. Robie nodded.

  “But there is no evidence tying me to any of this.”

  “There is evidence, beyond Meenan here. Sir, you might want to sit down before you fall down.”

  His legs shaky, Whitcomb sat back down on the bench. “You said you don’t see this going to trial?”

  “Too much of an embarrassment for the country. We don’t need that. There are lots of terrorists out there. That would hurt our ability to go after them. You don’t want that, right?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Robie looked up at Meenan. “Thank you. There are people waiting for you over there.” He pointed to his left where two men in suits hovered.

  After she walked off, Robie said, “Your security detail has been dismissed, by the way.”

  Whitcomb glanced in the direction from which he had come. “I see.”

  “Your resignation might be in order.”

  “Did the president suggest that too?” Whitcomb said dully.

  “Let’s just say that he didn’t object when it was raised.” Robie looked at the man. “Did you know Joe Stockwell?”

  Whitcomb slowly shook his head. “Not personally, no.”

  “Retired U.S. marshal. Good guy. Got in with Kent, gained his trust. Found out what was going on. You had him killed. And a woman named Gwen. Nice old lady. And a former agency guy named Mike Gioffre. They all meant the world to a friend of mine.”

  “What friend would that be?” But Robie could tell that Whitcomb already knew the answer.

  Robie pointed to his right. “Her.”

  Whitcomb looked to where Robie was pointing.

  Jessica Reel stood ten feet from them, her gaze on nothing other than Whitcomb.

  Robie stood and walked down the trail to the exit. He never once looked back.

  The island in the middle of a million people now contained only two
people.

  Gus Whitcomb.

  And Jessica Reel holding a pistol.

  To his credit, Whitcomb looked unafraid.

  “I’ve been to war, Ms. Reel,” he said by way of explanation as she drew close to him. “I’ve seen many people die. And I almost died myself a couple of times. You never get used to it, of course. But the shock level is diluted.”

  “Gwen Jones, Joe Stockwell, and Michael Gioffre did die,” she replied. “You had them killed.”

  “Yes, I did. But the world is complicated, Ms. Reel.”

  “And it’s also extremely simple.”

  “You look at it in different ways. You think you see an opportunity for improvement. Vast improvement. And sometimes you take it. That’s what we did here. We were tired of the killing, the chaos, and always being at the edge of the precipice. We just wanted a more stable, peaceful world by having people we could actually deal with in power over there. A few lives to save millions? How can that possibly be wrong?”

  “I’m not here to judge what you did. That’s really not my concern.” She raised her weapon. “There have to be others besides the ones we know. Who are they?”

  He shook his head and smiled grimly. “Now, do you want me to kneel? Do you want me to stand? Whatever you say I’ll do. You have the gun, after all.”

  “You have family.”

  For the first time Whitcomb looked concerned. “They knew nothing of any of this.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I would please ask you to not harm them. They’re innocent.”

  “Gwen was innocent. And so were Joe and Mike. And they had families.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Who else was behind this?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I’ll start with your oldest daughter. She lives in Minnesota. And after that your wife. And then your sister, and I’ll keep going until there’s no one left.” She pointed her pistol at his head. “Who else?” she asked.

  “It won’t matter. They’re outside this country, completely untouchable.”

  “Who else? I won’t ask again.”

  Whitcomb gave her three names.

  She said, “Congratulations, you just saved your family.”

  “You give me your word that you will not harm them?”

  “Yes. And unlike some people, I do keep my word.”

  “Thank you.”

  “One more thing. DiCarlo?”

  “She was too close to figuring things out. It pained me, but there was too much at stake.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “So stand or kneel?” he said.

  “I don’t care, really. But I want you to close your eyes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “I will have no trouble watching you kill me,” Whitcomb replied.

  “It’s not for your benefit. It’s for mine.”

  Whitcomb closed his eyes and waited for his life to end.

  When no shot came and the minutes passed by, Whitcomb finally opened his eyes.

  The island now contained only one person.

  Jessica Reel was gone.

  Chapter 81

  “I couldn’t pull the trigger,” Reel told Robie.

  It was later that afternoon. They were sitting in Robie’s apartment. Reel looked totally dejected.

  “It was sanctioned,” he said.

  “I know it was sanctioned.” She paused. “I told him to close his eyes. Like you told me to. When he opened them I was gone.” She looked up at him. “Just like you were.”

  “It was your choice. But I have to say I’m surprised.”

  She let out a long breath. “You let me live, Robie, when everything you’ve done the last dozen years was telling you to pull the trigger on me.”

  Robie sat down next to her. “You didn’t deserve to die, Jessica.”

  “I killed people. Just like Whitcomb.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  She snapped, “At every important level it is the same.”

  Robie remained silent.

  Reel wiped her face. “He was just an old, tired man sitting there. And he wasn’t afraid of dying.” She rose, went to the window, and stared out, her forehead pressed to the cool glass. “I couldn’t pull the trigger, Robie, even though I wanted to.”

  “He wasn’t an old, tired man. He was quite the warrior on the football field and off. Special forces in Vietnam, killed his share of the enemy. Guy was quite the badass in his day. And during his tenure as the APNSA, he orchestrated the killing of more members of terrorist organizations than any of his predecessors. He always goes for the jugular. Not a guy you would want against you. Kent found that out. So did Decker.”

  “So why are you telling me all this?” Reel asked.

  “To let you know that you have more compassion than he or I do. I would have shot him and not even thought twice about it. And he would have done the same to you.”

  “So what will happen to Whitcomb?”

  Robie shrugged. “Not our concern. I don’t see him going to trial, do you?”

  “So…?”

  “So just because you didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean that someone else won’t. Or maybe they’ll bury him in some cell at Gitmo.”

  “Pretty high-level guy to go out like that. Media will be all over it.”

  “The media can be controlled. But let’s hope no more high-level guys attempt something like this.”

  “So what happens to me now?” she asked.

  Robie knew the question was coming. It was certainly a legitimate one. And yet he wasn’t sure he knew the answer.

  “The fact that they sent you after Whitcomb tells me that things are back to the status quo.” He looked at her. “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever know. If I couldn’t pull the trigger on Whitcomb, who’s to say I’ll ever be able to pull the trigger again?”

  “You’re the only one who can ultimately answer that.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer it.”

  “There is some good news.”

  “What?”

  “Janet DiCarlo came out of her coma.”

  Reel’s eyes widened. “Robie, there might be others out there. If they know that, she’ll be dead in—”

  He held up his hand. “No she won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Cerebral hemorrhage. She’s not… she’ll never be the same as she once was.”

  “And that’s good news?”

  “She’ll get to live.” He paused. “Would you like to see her?”

  Reel nodded.

  Two hours later they stood at the bedside of Janet DiCarlo. Her head had been shaved and deep suture marks were stamped on her scalp where major surgery had been performed to relieve pressure on her brain. Her eyes were open and she stared up at them.

  Reel reached out and took her hand. “Hello, Janet,” she said in a husky voice. “Do you remember me?”

  DiCarlo stared up, but no recognition came to her features.

  “My name is—” Reel broke off. “I’m just a friend. An old friend who you helped a long time ago.”

  Reel looked down when DiCarlo squeezed her fingers. Reel smiled.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said.

  Reel looked over at Robie. “We’re going to be okay.”

  No we’re not, thought Robie.

  A few seconds later his cell phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen. The message was short but definitely to the point.

  They were being summoned.

  And now it starts.

  Chapter 82

  The conference room seemed too small to hold everyone who was there. On one side of the table sat Robie and Reel. On the other side were Evan Tucker, Blue Man, and the acting APNSA, Josh Potter, who was much younger than Gus Whitcomb, barely fifty. Robie didn’t envy his coming into this situation.

  Tucker slid a USB st
ick across the table. Robie and Reel looked at it, but neither made a move to pick it up.

  Tucker said, “New mission.”

  “For both of you,” added Potter.

  Tucker said, “We’re giving you a second chance, Reel.”

  “I never asked for one.”

  “Let me put it this way. We’re giving you your only chance. You murdered two people from the CIA, for God’s sake. You should be in prison. Do you know how unbelievably generous this offer is?”

  Potter cleared his throat and sat forward. “Let me just say that these are extraordinary conditions and that everyone here is under enormous stress. As the new man in the loop I also want to say that putting this behind us is a priority. I think we can all agree on that.”

  Reel said, “Gelder and Jacobs were traitors. I just didn’t wait for the sanction order. I’m sure it would have been forthcoming.”

  Blue Man added, “And the agency has uncovered evidence tying both of them to the plot. Sam Kent left files behind. So what Ms. Reel did was serve her country.”

  “Bullshit!” snapped Tucker. “You are a murderer, Reel, nothing will ever change that.”

  “Your objection is duly noted, Director,” said Potter in a calming tone. “But the ‘offer’ has been authorized at a level above any in this room. So let’s just focus on that instead of exercising histrionics.”

  Robie was not looking at Tucker or Potter. He was looking at Blue Man.

  And Blue Man was doodling on a piece of paper.

  Robie did not take this as a good sign.

  Robie said, “Can we get a preview?”

  “Like I said, a second chance,” replied Tucker. “Ahmadi? Syria? He’s still there. We need him taken care of.”

  “Little dicey to go in now,” said Robie.

  “If she had done her job before instead of shooting Doug Jacobs in the back, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” barked Tucker. “It’s gotten to the critical stage. We believe that Ahmadi is partnering with al-Qaeda and will soon offer them training, resources, and official cover into other countries if he comes to power, which looks likely. That obviously can’t be allowed to happen.”

  “So we both go?” said Reel, watching Tucker.

  He spread his hands. “Like Robie said, it’s dicey right now. We believe the odds of success are increased with both of you going in.”